Partners in Crime
by International08
Summary: There's a moment of silence and then he speaks, his voice both soft and resolute. "I'll meet you there." Spoilers for 4x22 and 4x23. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

The door slams shut.

Shuffling forward, she drops heavily onto the bench, leans down, lets her head fall into her hands.

This isn't how it was supposed to go.

_Oh_, _Castle_.

If he-

She'll never forgive herself.

* * *

_Three_ _days_ _earlier_...

She gets the call when she least expects it. Not that she really would have expected it at all, but maybe she should have. It's been a year.

Not just a year since she was shot. It's a year that marks her own pain and tragedy, yes. But she shares that pain with another. With Evelyn. Her captain's wife.

All the same, when her cell phone flashes his name, the word 'home' in smaller letters underneath, her heart stills, a fresh wave of grief crashing over her. A good man who made a bad mistake and lost his life for it.

She answers the ringing phone, wills her voice into submission. "Beckett."

"Kate?"

She wonders sometimes how much Evelyn knows about her husband's death, wonders if she has any idea of why beyond that he was protecting Kate. "Evelyn. Hi. How are you?"

There's a hesitation on the other end of the line, and then the woman speaks, her voice low and quiet. "I'm- I'm okay. How are you?"

"Better," she answers, matching the other woman's tone. "I'm doing better. Thank you."

She was glad her captain's wife hadn't visited in the hospital, hadn't sent flowers either. She had only sent a card, a generic 'Get Well Soon' card, simply signed. Anything more would have been too much for the wounded detective who hasn't yet managed to visit Montgomery's family.

There's a long pause, a silence that stretches on uncomfortably. It's been a year.

"What can I do for you?" the detective finally asks. "Is everything all right?"

The other woman sighs, the sound crackling over the connection. "No. Kate. Something happened."

* * *

She has his number dialed, her phone to her ear before she even realizes what she's done. He's gone.

He's gone, worked his last case, and she has no right to be calling him. It's just instinctive. She pulls the phone from her ear as she hears it ringing.

Just as her thumb hovers over the 'end call' button, he answers, sounds a little breathless. "Beckett?"

Well. She can't just hang up on him now.

"Hey, Castle," she says, trying to keep her voice even as she lifts the phone back to her ear. "Sorry. I didn't mean to call you."

"Oh, okay," he replies, his voice a little different from its usual timbre.

She nods decisively, even though he can't see her. "Okay, um. Take care then."

But he must hear something in her tone. She's pulling the phone away when he calls out. "Wait. Beckett, wait."

Her heart thuds sharply in her chest, aches with each beat. "What, Castle?"

"I, uh," he begins then trails off for a moment before starting again. "Are- are you okay? You don't sound like yourself."

She shuts her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I'm fine. Nothing to worry yourself about."

"Kate," he sighs, and she wonders if he has his eyes shut as well. "Just because- just because I'm not shadowing you anymore doesn't mean that I don't still care about you, don't care if something's wrong."

"Evelyn Montgomery just called."

The words are out before she even realizes she was thinking them, and she hears him suck in a sharp breath.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

She shakes her head, lifts her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "I'm not sure. I don't think so. I'm about to go over there."

There's a moment of silence and then he speaks, his voice both soft and resolute. "I'll meet you there."

He hangs up.

* * *

Castle stands silent at her back, his presence warm and reassuring as she lifts her hand, raps three times on the ornate wooden door. She sees a flash of movement inside, hears the rasp of the deadbolt turning, and then Evelyn Montgomery stands before them, half hidden by the door.

Her eyes dart over their shoulders, her face drawn and weary. Worried too. "Kate. Rick."

She steps back and beckons them in. Kate hesitates for a moment, but Castle's fingers at her elbow prod her forward. She glances over her shoulder at him and he immediately pulls away, his eyes speaking an apology.

She doesn't want his apology though, doesn't want him to think that his touch is unwanted. But maybe it's habit, maybe it's just something he didn't even think about and really didn't want to do. He's the one who pulled away, who has systematically cut all ties from her over the past several weeks. She didn't push him out of her life. Not this time.

Still. He's here now, and she's grateful for that, even if she's not exactly sure what it means.

She's pulled from her musings by Castle's arm brushing hers as he steps forward. The detective watches as he thrusts out his hand toward her captain's wife. Evelyn shakes her head, reaching up to pull him down into a hug instead.

"Thank you, Rick," she hears the woman whispering. "Thank you for all you've done for us."

He shakes his head, his eyes falling shut, and Kate can see the pain etched into his handsome face. She may have known Roy Montgomery longer, but that doesn't mean she's the only one who suffered loss that night last year.

"He was my friend," the writer murmurs. "He did so much for me. How could I not try to repay the favor?"

She doesn't know, doesn't know how he's helped this struggling family, but she's not surprised. This is the man who tossed down a hundred thousand dollars for a chance at her mother's killer. He's a good man. Her heart aches all the more for what she's lost.

A hand closes around her wrist, and the detective looks up, finds the other two watching her. "Kate, so good to see you. Especially since..."

Evelyn trails off, but the detective just gives her an understanding, sad smile. She searches the older woman's eyes for signs of resentment, for anything that hints at blame for her husband's death. But there's nothing.

"You told Detective Beckett that something happened?" Castle says then, and her title paired with her name sounds foreign, especially in front of this woman who calls them both by their first names.

Evelyn nods. "Yes. There was- I came home the other day and a few things seemed out of place."

"Someone broke in?" Kate asks. "Did you call the police?"

The woman shakes her head. "Nothing seemed to be missing, and I chalked it up to my imagination. But then today..."

She pauses, looks between writer and detective, her brow furrowed. Castle steps closer, and Kate can feel his warmth at her side. Ohh, she's missed that. He doesn't touch her. But he's there.

"What happened today?" the detective asks quietly.

The woman sighs, turning away from them and heading off down the hall. Kate lifts her eyes to Castle's and he shrugs, nods his head. They follow.

A door leads them into what must have been the captain's office, and they find Evelyn bent over an open drawer.

"I was looking for some stamps," she says without turning to face them. "I found this instead."

She steps back, gives them a clear view. Kate's shoulder vies with Castle's as they both lean in to see what the drawer holds.

It's a knife, military issue - hauntingly familiar.

She gasps, and Castle's broad hand wraps around her forearm as she reaches toward it, halts her progress. "Kate..."

Her gaze lifts to his face but his terrified eyes still linger on the creamy card that rests beneath the blade and the words written in a graceful, flowing script.

_Like_ _mother_, _like_ _daughter_.


	2. Chapter 2

"Why now?"

Castle turns away from the window, meets her eyes as they wait at a red light. Something flashes in his blue depths, something she can't quite identify. It's not good though, she knows that much.

"Why now?" she repeats. "Why decide to come after me now when I haven't touched the case in months?"

"You haven't?" he asks, but it's not doubt, not even surprise in his voice. It sounds more like guilt. For what? He was right to ask her to set it aside. It would have swallowed her whole, would have taken everyone she loves down with her.

She shakes her head. "I promised you I wouldn't."

Her eyes drop to his throat muscles when they twitch as if he's swallowing back something. Maybe he is. His voice is raspy when he speaks. "Yeah, you did."

Out of the corner of her eye she see the light switch to green and she turns away from the shadows in the eyes of her part- no, he's not her partner, even if he's here now. He made that abundantly clear.

They travel the next two blocks in silence and she's grateful for a chance to mull things over a bit. They'd called Ryan and Esposito, of course, and a couple of CSU techs had accompanied the other detectives, dusting for prints and collecting evident. She'd bagged the knife and note herself, looked up from the task to find Castle watching her with raw fear in his eyes.

It was reassuring, somehow, though she feels terrible for taking comfort in his fear. Still, knowing that he cares enough to be afraid for her - it gives her some kind of hope.

"Beckett?" he says softly at her side and she glances over, sees the hesitation on his face. "We need to go to my apartment."

"Now?" she asks, raising a brow and trying to keep one eye on him while she also maintains her focus on the road.

He nods. "Now. Please. It's- there's something I need to show you."

"Can't it-" she begins, but waiting is what brought them here to this awkward tension, and hadn't she told herself she didn't want to wait anymore? Still. "Castle, we need to get back to the precinct. Or I do. I guess you don't have to come along if you don't want."

A warm hand lands on her thigh, squeezes briefly. "Please, Kate."

It's not his touch, not the pleading note in his voice. It's her name that decides her.

She takes the next turn and heads toward his loft, watches him in her peripheral vision as she drives. Watches his face turn ever more fearful as they draw nearer to his home. Whatever this is, it won't be good.

* * *

"This explains the why now question," she murmurs, closing her eyes, blocking out the faces that stare back at her, blocking out her own smile.

He says nothing, but she can hear his breathing, hear the way it's almost too steady, too quiet, as if he's trying to disappear, fade into the background.

"You've been looking into this all along?" the detective asks.

He sighs, and she places him to her right, perhaps leaning against his desk. He's within inches. She could reach out and touch him so easily. And yet his voice is distant when he answers with a single word. "Yes."

"Why?"

He sighs again, and she hears the swish of moving fabric, imagines him shrugging his shoulders or lifting one hand in a helpless gesture. "At first, it was because I couldn't bear the thought of losing you again. Watching you bleed out, knowing that your heart had stopped, that you had literally died - I couldn't let that happen again if I could do anything to prevent it."

"And then?" she asks softly.

"And then what?"

"You said 'at first.'"

He makes a noise, a strangled groan that sounds like it's come from the back of his throat. "And then it was my only connection to you."

Regret swirls in her gut and she opens her eyes to find him exactly where she'd thought he was. He's hunched over though, elbows balanced on his knees, the heels of his hands pressed into his eye sockets.

"Castle," she whispers, doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to heal the hurt she inflicted upon him. Doesn't know if she can.

"But then you came back," he says after a moment, his voice rough and weary. "And little by little, I watched you heal and I watched you look happier, and I knew that I would do whatever it took to keep you on that path, even if I wasn't-"

His mouth shuts suddenly, mid-sentence, and his eyes dart to hers guiltily.

"Even if you weren't-" she prods, leaning toward him when he shakes his head. "Even if you weren't what, Castle?"

He takes a deep breath, broad shoulders tensing beneath his gray plaid shirt. "Even if I wasn't the one making you happy."

He wasn't-

What?

"Castle," she begins, but he straightens then, stands up, strides across the room.

"Look, Beckett," he says firmly. "It's okay. I mean, you can't help the way you feel, and I really do just want you to be happy. I just wish my digging around hadn't dragged this up again."

"What?"

He turns in his pacing, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he looks away again. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" the detective asks, thoroughly confused now.

He shrugs. "For not being more careful, I guess. For sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong. For somehow making them think that you were still looking into the case."

Reaching out a hand, she catches him on his next pass, tugs him to a stop. Her fingers curl around his forearm. She's not letting him go. Not until he makes himself clear.

"Rewind, Castle," she says quietly. "I want to go back."

His eyes drift from her hold on his arm to her face, his expression unreadable. It scares her. They've been in sync for ages, able to know what the other was thinking before the words were spoken, able to build theory seamlessly and hold entire conversations with their eyes. Until recently, when he's pulled away, shuttering his emotions entirely, his face going blank more often than she wants to admit.

"Back to what?" he asks.

She tightens her fingers for a moment, then lets them coast down to his wrist. She wants- she wants to wrap her hand around his. And there was a time when she might have let herself do just that. Just a couple of months ago, here in his apartment, she'd done just that - acted on her heart's wishes and reached for his hand.

But for now - at least until they get a few things cleared up - this will have to be enough.

"Back to me not being able to help the way I feel," she murmurs. "Back to you thinking you're not the one who makes me happy."

His eyes shut altogether then, and he tries to take a step back. But she doesn't let him pull away.

She follows.

Chasing him this time.


	3. Chapter 3

She's working on his third button when her phone rings.

Growling, Castle drops his forehead to her shoulder, his hot breath washing over her exposed skin. "You should probably answer that."

She shakes her head, her fingers abandoning his shirt front to rise and card through his hair. "I don't have to-"

"You do," he grunts, cutting her off. "It's probably Esposito or Ryan. They might have something."

"Could be a telemarketer."

He laughs. He laughs, and oh, the sound shoots right through her, his body vibrating against hers.

"You want me," he gruffs, his mouth close to her ear.

Her fingers clench at his scalp. "Yes."

His grip on her waist tightens, his touch scalding against her sides. His voice is rough, desperate when he speaks. "This first."

"This?" she echoes, canting further toward his body, pressing her curves into his palms.

He groans, fingers digging into her muscles. "Kate. Please."

She sighs, relents, releases her grip on him to reach toward her discarded jacket, fumbles for the still-ringing phone tucked into the front pocket. She snags it, sliding her thumb across the screen when she sees that it indeed is Esposito.

"Beckett," she answers as she hits the button to put it on speakerphone.

"Castle with you?" the other detective asks, his voice low, a little hesitant-sounding across the line.

The man in question halts his movements, his eyes flashing to hers. She nods at him, and he nods back, clearing his throat. "Yes, I'm here."

"What is it, Espo?" she asks, crooking one finger toward the writer. He gives her a half smile, leaning down to retrieve her shirt from the floor. Straightening, he holds it out as she slips one arm into a sleeve. His fingers brush the tender skin of her shoulder, and she shivers.

"We've got a body," Esposito says.

Castle meets her eyes, and she shakes her head, setting the phone on his desk as she tugs the other sleeve on. "Gates knows about what happened today. Shouldn't someone else be taking the new one?"

Nimble fingers start on her bottom button and she shoots him a grateful smile as she runs her hands along the hem of her shirt, tucking it back into her pants.

The other detective clears his throat. "It's- Beckett..."

She stills at his tone, and Castle pauses in his task as well. She meets his eyes, setting her hand gently over his. "What, Javi?"

"The body," the troubled voice says. "It's the former police commissioner."

She shuts her eyes. "Still."

"No," Esposito says. "We ran the knife Evelyn found, and it was clean. But a partial print on the card popped immediately. It popped because it belonged to the former police commissioner. And now he's dead."

* * *

Was it really just a few hours ago that she got the call from Evelyn?

Castle hovers nearby as she examines the car where the body was found, his presence reassuring. He held her hand the whole way to the crime scene, gripped her harder when she started asking questions that neither of them could answer. The only time he spoke was to ask if she wanted coffee. They both knew it would be a long night, so she'd nodded, let him hop out at a shop a block from the crime scene. He came back with coffees for the boys too.

He hasn't left her side since.

It's an old car, a little beat up, the inside now streaked with blood. They've already seen the body, met Lanie on the way in. Five shots, the ME told them, the first one a fatal shot to the heart, based on the pattern of gunshot residue. Castle asked about the other four. _Revenge or an insurance policy_, Lanie had said.

They haven't retrieved the slugs or the casings, and there's no sign of either in the car, nothing except copious amounts of blood that would show a crime had been committed inside.

"The killer must have put the body inside," Castle says, leaning into her space to make his own examination of the vehicle.

Beckett turns, finds his eyes roving the interior for a moment before they come to rest on her. He looks worried, of course he does. But there's also a warmth in his gaze that she's missed these past few weeks.

More than just a warmth. It's a fierce tenderness she's never seen before - his love for her unleashed.

"Yeah," she says, finding that her throat is a little clogged, her voice emerging with an unfamiliar rasp. "I think so too.

His eyes stay on hers for a moment longer and then he steps back, extends his hand. Giving him a hint of a smile, she slides her palm against his, letting him tug her out of the car.

A cough echoes behind him and he turns, not releasing her hand. Ryan, shifting from foot to foot, stares at the pair.

"We've got the wife down at the precinct," he finally says.

Kate sighs. "I don't think there's anything else here. We'll meet you back at the Twelfth."

The other detective glances between them, his eyes drifting to their joined hands. Beckett turns to see her partner's face, stoic and determined, fire in his eyes. Focusing back on her teammate, she nods.

One corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, but Ryan says nothing else, just trots back to Esposito and their cruiser.

Kate doesn't let go.

* * *

"He'd been going to church recently," the woman says quietly, nodding her thanks to Castle when the writer hands her a cup of tea.

"And was that unusual, Mrs. Akins?" Beckett asks gently.

A sigh answers her. "I always been involved with the church, but Michael usually only went on special occasions. You know, Christmas and Easter and such."

"Until lately," Castle supplies. The woman nods.

"Yes, lately he'd been there more than I had," she says softly. "I was glad. It'd always been something we argued about. But now it makes me wonder."

Kate's shoulders straighten. "Wonder what?"

Mrs. Akins shrugs. "Our priest called today to thank me for our generous donation to the church's building fund. But I hadn't made a donation yet. I wanted to talked it over with Michael first, maybe see if we could sell some things we weren't using anymore so we could give more."

"So you think your husband made a donation without telling you?" Castle asks.

"Yes," the woman answers. "Father Guzman said Michael hadn't given him the money but that they'd found it after he left confession two days ago and he'd been the only parishioner at the church that day."

Becket leans forward, elbows balanced on her knees. "Mrs. Akins, may I ask how much the donation was?"

"Fifty thousand dollars," she murmurs. "And I can't figure out how Michael could have had that amount of money, much less in cash."

The writer turns to the detective, and she meets his eyes. She doesn't have to ask what he's thinking.

"Thank you for your time," Beckett says, standing and extending her hand toward the grieving woman. "I'm so sorry for your loss, and I promise we'll do whatever we can to find whoever killed your husband. Please let me know if you think of anything else that might help us."

Castle reaches out too, taking the nearly empty mug from the woman and offering his own condolences. The detective ushers the woman out of the interview room then, toward the friend who had accompanied her downtown. But just as she's about to turn away, about to go find Castle and see what he makes of all of it, Mrs. Akins calls out. "Detective Beckett?"

She turns back. "Yes, ma'am?"

"You're the one who was shot last year, aren't you?"

Kate nods, a phantom twinge flaring up in her chest. "Yes."

The woman's brows knit together. "Michael mentioned you a few days ago, when that zombie case was on the news."

Castle appears at her side then, the mug missing from his hands. He must have taken it back to the break room. He answers for her. "We worked that case."

"What did he say?" the detective asks, dread churning in her gut.

"I don't know what he meant by it," Mrs. Akins says hesitantly. "I'm sure it's nothing, but I remember him saying that if he were you, after what happened last May, he'd have been trying a little harder to lie low."


	4. Chapter 4

The words eat at her for the next two days, swirling constantly in her thoughts. _He'd have been trying a little harder to lie low_.

She thinks about them through the interview with the priest who tells them he doesn't know where Akins might have obtained fifty thousand dollars in cash and who claims that the former commissioner seemed troubled in confession but had given no real clue to what might have gotten him killed.

She thinks about them while they sit at a table in one of the conference rooms, combing through Akins' finances and call records, looking for something - anything - that might point them in the right direction.

She thinks about them as she listens to Ryan read off an address where half an hour later they stand horrified outside of the home of a potential witness, watching the house burn, leaving them with another body and more questions.

She thinks about them when Castle pushes a container of orange chicken in front of her, sticking his face in her field of vision when she doesn't start eating, chopsticks tucked under his lips like walrus tusks, trying his hardest to pull a smile from her.

And she thinks about them as she lies awake at night, turned on her side, facing away from him, his palm warm against her spine as he sleeps.

Castle has barely let her out of his sight since they found the knife, much less since they listened to Mrs. Akins ominous remembrance of her husband's words.

They went back to the detective's apartment briefly that first night, stayed long enough for her to gather clothes and other necessities for a few days. And then he took her home with him. No begging, no pleading, no convincing. She could see in his eyes that he needed her close, needed to be able to see and touch her, needed to know that she was okay.

And so she hasn't been back to her place since.

They've worked each day, running themselves ragged late into the night, stopping briefly to eat from time to time. And then they've gone back to the loft, collapsed into his large bed, and slept. Or in her case, tried to sleep.

She feels his fingers move, holds back a shiver when he starts tracing along one of her ribs. She tries to keep her breathing even, isn't sure if she can face his concern yet again. But he knows.

"We'll figure it out," he whispers into the darkness, his hand sliding over her side to palm her stomach. He pulls her back into the cocoon of his body, his lips pressing gently against her shoulder.

"We've got nothing," she sighs, hating the despondency in her own voice. "We have nothing but dead ends.

His voice is quiet and determined when he speaks again. "I don't like that term."

"What term?"

She feels his forehead press against the back of her skull, his fingers tightening their grip on the front of her baggy tee shirt. "Dead ends. They're rarely what they seem. There's almost always a fence to climb or a window to go through, or a door to break down. There's almost always a way out. You just have to find it."

She leans into him, desperate for hope. "And if I can't find it?"

"We find it together," he murmurs. "And if there's no way out, then we face it together."

She turns in his arms then, presses her body to his, every long line of him meeting her. Tipping his head, he steals her breath, his lips warm and supple, reassuring and insistent. She groans into his mouth as his fingers delve beneath her shirt, blazing trails over her skin.

Hooking her knee over his hip, she pushes against him, forces him to his back. He gasps as she settles over him, and she feels the hitch in her own breathing too, every point of contact between them electrifying.

"Castle, I-"

The ringing phone cuts her off and she collapses against his chest. He nudges her after a moment, and when she looks up, he's holding her phone. '12th Precinct' flashes on the screen, and she reaches out to take the device, scrambling off her partner as she does.

"Beckett," she answers, still working to calm her racing heart.

"Detective, I need you and Mr. Castle to come to the precinct right away," the no-nonsense voice of Victoria Gates greets her.

She glances at the glowing alarm clock next to his bed. 6:37.

"Yes, sir," she says. "Is there-"

Gates doesn't wait for the end of the question. "We've received new information."

* * *

It occurs to her while they're on the elevator that she hasn't had any coffee. Castle had offered to make some, of course, but something in the captain's tone had told her to hurry, to forgo any unnecessary delay.

Now though, as the doors open and she and her partner step onto the homicide floor, she wishes for a hot mug in her hands, wishes for the liquid comfort to soothe her jitters.

And then the whole floor goes silent.

Every eye turns toward the duo. Kate glances over at Castle, finds his face a mask of puzzled wariness.

"Detective, Mr. Castle," she hears and turns toward the voice of the captain, standing with crossed arms in the doorway to her office. "In here, if you please."

No one speaks as they traverse the bullpen. The room isn't full by any means; it's only half past seven, and most of her fellow detectives won't arrive until at least eight o' clock. But those who are present remain silent, looking away as they pass.

Castle hangs back when they reach the doorway, allowing her to step through first. He's right behind her though, his body warm at her back. Whatever happens, she can handle it with him there. He's right: dead end or not, they face it together.

Inside the room, Esposito leans against the back wall, his pose casual, though she can sense - as always with him - the restrained power, the instant readiness. Ryan is there too, his face drawn, blue eyes worried as he shifts from foot to foot. Neither of her teammates meet her gaze for more than the briefest moment.

Gates sits at the desk, fingers steepled in front of her, glasses pulled halfway down her nose. A tall man with slicked-back hair stands a few feet away, the shiny edge of a badge barely visible beneath his suit jacket.

"Captain?" Kate says, unease pooling in her gut.

Nodding at the chairs in front of the desk, Gate speaks quietly. "Take a seat please, both of you."

* * *

She turns her head, watches as Castle stands woodenly next to the chair, hands behind his back.

His eyes cut to hers, pleading, but she's done everything she can, everything she knows how to do. None of it worked. She shrugs and feels the cold metal cut into her wrists, feels Ryan's slim fingers on her forearm, halting her movement as his soft voice tonelessly speaks.

"You have the right to remain silent..."

She blocks out the rest, keeps her eyes on her partner's face, tries to communicate wordlessly with him. But she's got nothing.

The evidence is damning. And no matter how much she tried to refute it, tried to tell them that she'd never seen the information on her homemade murderboard pointing to Akins as the mastermind behind her mother's death, it remains that it's her handwriting on the cards - hers and Castle's.

It remains that his fingerprints are on the shell casings a beat cop found last night near a pool of blood and other materials that match the former police commissioner, her prints on the gun unearthed in a dumpster a block away.

It remains that neither of them have alibis for the time of the shooting, nor for the hour before they arrived to find the house of the witness going up in smoke. They'd been together, but there's no external proof of their innocence.

And it remains that if she'd had the chance to kill her mother's murderer, she's not so sure she wouldn't have done it.

She's not sure Castle wouldn't do the same.

* * *

The door slams shut.

Shuffling forward, she drops heavily onto the bench, leans down, lets her head fall into her hands.

This isn't how it was supposed to go.

_Oh, Castle_.

If he-

She'll never forgive herself.

The click of dress shoes fades away as the officer on duty goes back to his post, and then she hears her name.

Lifting her head, she meets his eyes, takes in the way he leans against the bars that enclose the other holding cell.

"Castle," she gasps, the bile rising in her stomach.

He shakes his head, fingers flexing around the metal, straining as if he's trying to reach her. "Shh, it's gonna be fine, you'll see."

"How?" she wonders aloud, grief choking her words. "How?"

"Easy," he scoffs. "We'll make bail, and we'll get out of here, and then we'll figure out who set us up."

"And if we can't-" she begins, then cuts herself off as horror overtakes her. "Oh god, Castle. What about Alexis?"

Some of the light leaves his eyes then, but he shrugs anyway. "She'll be fine."

Kate stands, stumbles over to the edge of the cell, mirroring his pose. "If we can't figure out who set us up, what then?"

Tilting his head, he gives her a hint of his trademark smirk. "I'm rich, Beckett. I've got excellent lawyers. Or we could just leave the country."

"But what if-" she starts, not even acknowledging his suggestion of a life on the run. "Castle, you shouldn't even be dealing with this. Neither of us should, but you-"

"I said 'always' and I meant it," he murmurs, his fingers unfurling toward her. "And I know we're not quite there yet, but I'm pretty sure this would fall into the 'for better or worse' category."

She lets out a startled laugh that might be half sob.

"Kate," he whispers, his shoulders and chest pressing into the bars. "If worst comes to worst, I trust you."

"You trust me?" she asks, canting toward him, wishing she could touch him, wishing she could just wake up from this nightmare made reality.

He nods. "I asked you once what you'd do if I went to prison for a crime I didn't commit."

She shuts her eyes as the memory washes over her - love conquering all. "I remember."

"Kate," he reminds her, his voice certain and unafraid. "You said you'd get me out."

* * *

_the end_


End file.
